Church

Oh!

I’ve said it. Most likely, you’ve said it, too, at some time or another.

It seems harmless enough, but I now cringe deep down into my pinky toes every time I hear the following phrase said to a woman about to get married:

“When you have children…”

Oh, how easily we assume and make light of God’s gifts! Oh, how effortlessly such words of expectation and law slip past our lips! Oh, how quickly we in the church fail to confess the truth about children to one another!

Children are not a given in marriage. They are God’s blessing spoken over marriage, His heritage to bestow, His gift to give according to His wise will.

“If God blesses you and your husband with the gift of children…”

Yes, that’s better.

You Are Not Alone

Some of you are miscarrying, right now.

Some of you are grieving the anniversary of the death of a precious child in your life.

Some of you are struggling with undiagnosed physical pain that is baffling your doctors.

Some of you are coping with your husband’s recent death.

Some of you are depressed and afraid of what tomorrow might (or might not) bring.

So many of you are suffering, right now, and have asked for our prayers. Well, you’ve got them. Pastor Schuermann wrote this prayer for all of us to pray together today.

Remember your mercy, O Lord, and your steadfast love,
for they have been from of old.
Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
according to your steadfast love remember me,
for the sake of your goodness, O Lord!
– Psalm 25:6-7

Let us pray…

O God, from before the foundation of the world You knew me, loved me, and showed me mercy. As I struggle, Lord, give me strength. Remind me daily of Your everlasting love for me. Remind me that I am Your child, adopted into Your heavenly family by grace, for the sake of Jesus. Do not let this cross which You have laid on me overwhelm me. Because You know all things, I will trust You. Lord, have mercy. Amen.

Hold Your Horses

Technology will always move faster than the Church. The infertility medicine industry may insist on creating and freezing embryonic children, but that does not automatically mean the Church should be bullied into adopting and implanting them. She should wait until she can with full, Scriptural confidence say that surrogacy in such a situation is pleasing to God and serves the best interest of her neighbors – all of them, including the statistically doomed 65%.

At the same time, the Church should not be a Levite and cross on the far side of the street from those abandoned to die in the ditch. She should speak on this issue. She should pray for these precious children, advocate for their legal rights, work to stop the creation and freezing of more children outside of the marriage bed in the procedure of IVF, and encourage parents to rescue their children from the freezer.

Help us, Lord God, and save us from our sins, for Jesus’ sake. “Cast us not away from Thy presence, and take not Thy Spirit from us.” Amen.

Day of Salvation

I walked into the Life Center of Redeemer Lutheran Church in Peoria, IL, last night and found this sitting at my place setting.

“Do you know why that’s there?” Sandy asked.

I nodded my head and wrapped my arms around my godmother.

Later that evening, when I stood up to speak to the Women of Redeemer gathered together for their 11th annual kickoff event, I was given the chance to share the good news with all of them.

“Exactly thirty-five years ago today,” I explained, “my family drove to Redeemer Lutheran Church in Peoria, Illinois, in a bit of a frenzy. You see, we were running late. My mama had just fed me a healthy breakfast of mother’s milk, and I, in grateful return, had filled my diaper moments before leaving for church.

I suppose my parents could have just stuffed me in the car and hoped for the best, but September 10, 1978, was not just any Sunday. It was my day of salvation, and I was dressed for the occasion. My pink, plump skin was packaged in baptismal white, and my mama knew better than to risk a stain.

So, the Church waited for me. You waited…and then you stayed to witness my rebirth into Christ through water and the Word, and I thank you. Thank you, Women of Redeemer, for standing up that morning and proclaiming to me God’s true nature in the Apostles Creed and praying over me Jesus’ own words in the Lord’s Prayer. Thank you for witnessing my Baptism and for continuing to pray for me all these years as you promised. I was made a Christian in your midst, and it is such a privilege to come home and speak to you today.”

What a blessing it was to celebrate my baptismal birthday with the very women who witnessed my Day of Salvation. Thank you, Women of Redeemer.

Thank you, Sandy.

The Ongoing Battle

Great and grievous, indeed, are these dangers and temptations, which every Christian must bear. We bear them even though each one were alone by himself. So every hour that we are in this vile life, we are attacked on all sides [2 Corinthians 4:8], chased and hunted down. We are moved to cry out and to pray that God would not allow us to become weary and faint [Isaiah 40:31; Hebrews 12:3] and to fall again into sin, shame, and unbelief. For otherwise it is impossible to overcome even the least temptation.

We Christians must be armed [Ephesians 6:10-18] and daily expect to be constantly attacked. No one may go on in security and carelessly, as though the devil were far from us. At all times we must expect and block his blows. Though I am now chaste, patient, kind, and in firm faith, the devil will this very hour send such an arrow into my heart that I can scarcely stand. For he is an enemy that never stops or becomes tired. So when one temptation stops, there always arise others and fresh ones.

So there is no help or comfort except to run here, take hold of the Lord’s Prayer, and speak to God from the heart like this: “Dear Father, You have asked me to pray. Don’t let me fall because of temptations.” Then you will see that the temptations must stop and finally confess themselves conquered. If you try to help yourself by your own thoughts and counsel, you will only make the matter worse and give the devil more space. For he has a serpent’s head [Revelation 12:9]. If it finds an opening into which it can slip, the whole body will follow without stopping. But prayer can prevent him and drive him back. (Luther’s Large Catechism III 105, 109-11)

How did Luther know what tempts me? How did he know that I would blame God, myself, and others for my barrenness? Each and every day brings temptations to “cure” my barren womb and to covet the children that are not mine. How did Luther know that once I was content within my barrenness, then the devil would send another temptation for me to try to “fix” my barren sisters?

Luther was right in saying that the enemy never becomes tired. We are constantly battling sin, this world, and our sinful flesh. There truly is no place for comfort other than in the safe and secure arms of Jesus. He fights the battles for us. He wraps the Word of God, along with His own Body and Blood, around our weak souls and protects us. He gives us His own words in the Lord’s Prayer to battle the evil foe.

Take comfort, dear friends. While you may be weary from fighting off temptation, Christ fights for you!

I want to memorize this prayer: Dear Father, You have asked me to pray. Don’t let me fall because of temptations. Amen.

“To the barren ladies I know and the ones I don’t”

Someone loves you and prays for you and bears with you, dear sisters. Read this and rest today while a sister in Christ shoulders your cross.

I’m the one with more children than you have fingers on your right hand. I feel ostentatious and gaudy around you. I feel like having my babies with me is in poor taste, like I am flaunting my riches. I cringe to imagine that you might feel the same way, you who have suffered so much in your own mind and who are now subjected in real time, in public, to stare in the face the dream that hasn’t come true for you. I am so sorry it hasn’t. I am so sorry to think that I might be causing you more pain. I ache for the love you show my silly little people. I don’t know if I could.

I sin your sins. When I see all the world’s human trash with its ill-bred and empirically worthless children, I seethe to think of the pearls cast before them while your clean neck and open ears and graceful wrists and industrious fingers are bare. When another moron teenager turns up pregnant, I want to rage at God for what I can only see as unimaginable injustice and just plain poor planning. I want to make it right. I want to distribute the world’s children sensibly by my own self-righteous fiat. I want YOU, you wonderful, smart, talented, responsible, faithful Christian person, to be a mother of nations. NOT THEM.

I see it. I didn’t want to, but I loved you so much I finally looked and really saw it, or saw it as well as one such as myself is able to. It was the worst thing I have ever seen. It looks like utter desolation, like horror. I can’t look long. I can’t believe it’s the view out your window every hour of every day. Oh, you. You have lost what you never had.

But I know also that we are nearsighted. I am so nearsighted outside of this metaphor that, without my glasses, I can look into a dark bedroom where I know there is a digital clock and still see no light whatsoever. This is how we see into eternity also. No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him. So I know that, despite its appearance to myopics like us, the desolation is not utter. I know you know too, and we walk by faith together because our sight is untrustworthy.

I cannot tell you how much I respect and admire you for not trying to take by force what God has not given. You are like the man on a lifeboat, crazy with thirst, who still knows better than to drink seawater even though his companions fall to the temptation. It must be so hard to watch them–to watch them sicken, to watch them die, to watch them live. You are the one who clings to a true hope and has the best chance of healthy survival. You trust the Lord, though he slay you.

I thank you for the witness that you are to the sacred blessing of marriage no matter what the quantifiable yield of that marriage. I thank you for the witness you are to the inherent value of femininity no matter what the quantifiable yield of that femininity.

I don’t say these things to you because I feel I don’t know you well enough, or I don’t know how you are doing with all this right now, or I know you feel as sick of this being the relentless topic of your life as I am of the relentless topics of my life. But I want you to know that I am always thinking all these things even as you are, and I pray for you always. I’m sorry if my not saying something makes it seem like I don’t care or I don’t really get it. I know I don’t really get it, but I try to, and I care so much.

I know you feel empty, but you bear the heaviest burden, and bearing is never without gain. God bless you, strong one.

Over Population

We were greeted by this bumper sticker in Yellowstone last week.

As Pastor McGuire once said to a morning Bible class I attended in Dallas a few years ago, you can’t take these people seriously. If they were really concerned about over population, they would kill themselves.

But they don’t.

Instead, they go right on living, driving navy blue pick-up trucks, consuming natural resources, sticking non-biodegradable plastics onto their bumpers with toxic glue, urinating birth control hormones into public water sources, and stomping carbon footprints deep into the grass-green earth, all the while encouraging everyone driving behind them to contracept and abort children for the sake of ~~children~~ themselves.

We are such a silly, selfish people.

The Grief of Others

We are not the only ones who grieve over our childlessness.

Everyone else – our parents, grandparents, siblings, nieces and nephews, friends, acquaintances, pew sisters – all experience grief over that which should not be. And, just like us, their grief goes through cycles.

Think about it.

Who in your life assures you that pregnancy can be achieved if you simply relax or start the adoption process or fast from sugar or go to Dr. Suzie-Q for treatments? Denial.

Who insists that if you prayed harder, believed more fully, gave enough money to the church, displayed enough faith, God would reward you with a child? Bargaining.

Who refuses to go to church or punches pillows or blames your husband’s family for your barrenness? Anger.

Who goes numb or bursts into tears every time the subject comes up? Depression.

Can you recognize the different phases of grief in the people around you? Just as we want others to allow us to grieve our childlessness without expectation or rule, so it is for everyone else who is grieving for us. It is loving to patiently bear with their grief, even if that means listening to and enduring and forgiving the thoughts, words, and deeds of the very ones who hurt us the most.

Remember, it may take years of your not getting pregnant or your not being able to adopt a child before any of these people will join you in the acceptance phase of grief.

In the meantime, I am so sorry it hurts. You are not alone. xo

A “You-Turn”

In my hours of self-pity, I am angry with God for the gifts He has given to others. In particular, I am angry that God has bestowed children to those who, in my opinion, don’t “deserve” them. My anger spews out words of jealousy towards the parents who seemingly let their children do whatever they wish. I tell myself that I could do so much better than those parents. I despise the Lord God for not giving me more children so that I might be a role model for good parenting skills. I am upset with my doctor who can’t seem to find the root of my barrenness. I chastise those closest to me for offering suggestions and encouragement. The anger builds. I am quick to point out the shortcomings of others, and it makes me feel good.

But then comes the you-turn. God shows me my sin, and I recall that I am steeped in self-righteousness. By God’s grace, I remember that children are GOD’s gift to give. Perhaps a larger brood is not what is best for me. I recognize my pity-party attitude and turn that around. I have made myself into an idol by thinking that I could do a better job with somebody else’s children. Thus, I see my sin, and I repent. I turn from my inward self and look to the cross of Jesus. In Him only can my anger be calmed and removed. That sin of anger is taken away by Jesus’ body and blood, shed for me. It’s time to turn my face back to Jesus, for only He can restore my soul.

Dear God, Forgive my sin of idolatry. Teach me to follow You and trust that Your will is best for me. Help me to love my neighbor. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.

Retreat Reflections

What happens when a bunch of barren (infertile? fruitless? we tried brainstorming a less archaic term for childlessness, but nothing fit so well as the Biblical word in the end) women get together for a weekend getaway in St. Louis?

Well, of course, some things will forever be top secret, but here’s what I can tell you:

Much Rolland hospitality was enjoyed.

Many gluten-and-dairy-free desserts prepared by Gina and her beautiful family were consumed.

Unseasonable spring weather was soaked up.

Colorful skeins of yarn were knitted.

Multiple medical questions were answered by Dr. Gosser.

Several hymns and spiritual songs were sung with Pastor Cholak.

Thoughtful gifts were exchanged. Frequent, girly laughter was heard. Honest tears were shed. Memories were made, and hours of sleep were lost.

And, last but not least, our designated night out on the town happened to be the same evening as the naked-bike-ride-thingy to raise awareness for something bearing worldly importance. So, yep, some free range breasts were witnessed by the churchy eyes of our dear retreaters.

In all seriousness, Rebecca and I have never witnessed such a group of patient, loving women who listened to each other with all forbearance and bore with each other so selflessly. It was a beautiful thing to behold.

After sharing so much with each other, it was difficult walking away after church on Sunday. We all lingered and then lingered some more. The goodbyes were not the hyperemotional departures of youthful summer campers, but the looks, hugs, and quiet words exchanged were meaningful. How do you say goodbye to ones who have gone to the trenches with you?

All I could think to say was, “Thank you.”

Happy trails to you, dear sisters, and Christ keep you.